


Breathe

by sweetdreamsaremadeoffish



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Breathing Exercises, F/F, First Time, Fluff, Library Sex, Lowkey Praise Kink kinda?, Smut, Teaching/Tutoring, Too much italics, but i mean sometimes stress relief helps more than studying, eddie spellman being an underhanded prick, especially in canon, i may have gotten a little carried away with the ending cliches but we're suckers for tropes anyway, i'm just so sorry, lightly implied child abuse/alcoholism ig, might be ooc idk, no one look at me thanks, og mary has anxiety, stretching the prompt a ridiculous amount, this doesn't even remotely make sense, we really don't need to talk about it, weird religion dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22329562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetdreamsaremadeoffish/pseuds/sweetdreamsaremadeoffish
Summary: "I think you have what it takes. It’s completely reasonable for you to have some support, but this needs to work. I need this to work. We both do,” Edward said, under his breath. “It’s this or go back home. You know that.”
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81
Collections: Madam Spellman 2020 Challenge





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> this isn’t my fault Grey said it would be cute and then this happened.

She had no business being there. Mary had known since the moment she arrived at the foot of Gehenna Station’s looming slate face that her mortal blood and upbringing couldn’t have prepared her for the life she’d lead behind its pine doors.

On a quiet Saturday morning, Mary’s home shook with a heavy knock at the door, and she’d opened it to find a young man by the name of Edward Spellman. Edward had invited himself in, sweeping into the Wardwell’s modest parlor and lighting the hearth with just a glance. Then, he’d offered Mary a place as a student at his blasphemous church’s school of magic.

He was Head Boy there, at the Academy of Unseen Arts, and hoped to further his integration initiative now he’d garnered some influence. Knowing somehow of Mary’s fascination with witch and occult history, he found her the ideal candidate.

Mary considered the bare bedroom upstairs. The thin space in the kitchen wall behind the stove where most wide, flat objects in the house lay hidden. The cabinet of half-empty liquor bottles.

It took her half an hour to pack up seventeen years of surviving.

But now she was losing her grip. With winter exams fast approaching and her innate disadvantage, Mary’s good standing with the Satanic brothers and sisters was dwindling, her charm and novelty wearing off with the decline in her grades. Her classmates watched her in the dark of the dormitory, kneeling at the side of her bed with a protective fist closed around her mother’s golden cross pendant. They said little to her, neither kind nor cruel.

Or maybe just not in front of her.

Sometimes they’d whisper around her in the corridors, and she’d clutch the books she could hardly read tighter to her chest. As the weather grew colder, she lost the respite of long walks along the train tracks and through the woods, and holiday homesickness crept up on her. So she buried herself in schoolwork. Fruitlessly, it seemed.

She was rigid, perched alone at a table in the Academy’s cafeteria, watery eyes over gibberish textbooks and a single apple, and Edward flopped down across from her.

“I got you a tutor.”

She coughed, a seed caught by surprise in her throat. “What?”

“You’re struggling in Demonology and Ancient Texts, Mary. If you don’t get some help, you’re going to fail.” He reached over and grabbed her apple. “And I know you’re too proud—and shy—to find it yourself. So I got you a tutor.”

Mary adjusted her glasses, her feet under the bench, her hands folded in her lap, and was quiet.

“Look, Mary, the witch community needs to know that the right mortals, with open minds and strong wills, can handle the Academy’s rigorous content. That’s why I brought you in as the test student for my program. Because I think you have what it takes. It’s completely reasonable for you to have some support, but this needs to work. I need this to work. We both do,” Edward said, under his breath. “It’s this or go back home. You know that.”

She bit her lip.

“Who is it?” she asked.

He grinned, rising to go and only answering over his shoulder with a crunch of her lunch.

“My sister.”

Mary froze. Then leapt up on thin-wire knees. “Edward, wait!”

He turned, eyebrows quizzically lifted too much like her fears. Her lungs were lead in her stomach.

“Which-” She cleared her throat. “Which sister?”

He squinted.

“Zelda.”

They were set to meet in the Academy library. Mary was in her seat, a secluded table in the corner an hour before the appointed time.

Her hands were clasped in her lap, sweating like it was summer. She kept her eyes closed, breathing deeply. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Zelda Spellman. The perfect elegant creature, all auburn halo and silken skin. She floated through the Academy halls like so much of the sky with those piercing green eyes.

“Ahem.”

Eyes. There, right in front of her. Brilliant and starry and- In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose, in through the nose, in through the nose, in through the-

“Mary Wardwell?” She forced her eyes open, nodding, measured. “I’m Zelda. Eddie told me you needed a bit of bolstering.”

“Yes. Yes, Ms. Spellman, hello.” Mary extended her hand in greeting. And immediately thought better of it, pressing her sweat into her trousers.

Zelda cocked her head and her rose-gold curls tumbled back over an alabaster shoulder, the slender marble column of her neck shining even in the low amber light of the lamps. Mary threw her textbook open and shoved her nose in it. “Shall we begin with chapter nineteen?”

Zelda chuckled, tucking the escaped tresses behind the delicate abalone shell of her ear. “Alright. That’s, um, conjuring and demon cravings, isn’t it?”

Mary nodded, shoving her glasses up her nose.

“Perfect.” The redhead slid the book out from under Mary’s jittery hands and propped it up on her thighs, exposed by the tight leather of her skirt. Mary gathered the fabric over her own legs into her hands and dug in her nails. “Okay, what’s the cardinal rule of conjuring?”

“Lay protective circles, barriers, and- no, no, it’s, um, never conjure alone,” Mary stammered. “Never conjure alone.”

“That’s swimming, dear.” Zelda clicked her tongue. “You may have to conjure alone sometime, depending on circumstances, but taking preventive action by laying protections and barriers you can keep yourself and others around you safe.”

Mary cursed herself within the privacy of her head and was rudely interrupted by a soft hand wrapping around her own.

“Hey. You were right.” In through the nose, out through the mouth. “Don’t second guess yourself so easily.”

And then she kissed her. _Kissed_ her.

Well, her hand, just her knobbled knuckles, and Zelda Spellman’s lips. They were so like dewy daydreams. In through the nose, out through the mouth. _Oh, god_.

The Lord’s prayer rattled off at her core, after all, she was nothing if not her mother’s daughter.

“Let’s try another,” Zelda said, squeezing Mary’s fingers until they felt lovely and flipping to a new page with her free hand. “What should you first offer a beast of the Pit?”

Mary blinked, blank. She shook her head.

Zelda leaned in on her elbows, pulling Mary closer, edge of the table cutting into her blouse. She searched Mary’s eyes and smiled. “You know the answer.”

“I don’t.”

“You do!” Zelda insisted. “You’re just scared of being wrong. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’ll be a disappointment,” Mary mumbled, retreating backward.

But Zelda’s grip was stronger, and the mortal girl couldn’t move for her gaze. “No. You’ll learn. You’ve got to take a chance, Mary. How are you going to grow without taking any risks?”

“But if I’m wrong-”

“Then I know what you need to understand before the next time someone asks you. What should you first offer a beast?” Zelda fixed her with those emerald eyes again.

Mary kicked her toe into the carpeting. “Sugar. To satiate and ingratiate.”

“Good! See?” Zelda dropped a cheerful peck on her forehead. “You didn’t need a tutor, you just needed a little confidence, Wardwell. C’mere, there’s a diagram for the next one.”

Wary, she stood and circled the table, coming to settle hesitantly in the chair Zelda patted for her and following the almond tip of Zelda’s finger. She felt a chill run through her that had nothing to do with the winter’s first snow falling outside. The image was a summoning circle, marked with sigils and invocations. Zelda indicated branched symbol in the outermost layer.

“What’s the function of that emblem?”

Mary found herself grounding in Zelda’s light smile. “Particular to Hell’s sixth circle, it’s an anchor of envy. And… lust.” Unsure again, she ducked into the text. “Used in conjuring higher sinful creatures besides demons, such as wyrms and banishees.”

“Exactly.” Her cheek this time, unbothered by her steep bones and cold skin, and the warmth of it spilled down Mary’s chest in a wild blush.

Emboldened, Mary took back the book, translating. “ _Nocturna animalia leporem vocare palpitans cor hominis_.”

Zelda clapped, excitement bubbling up in joy. “Perfect!” And she was near and far, one after the other rather quickly. Her hands folded in her lap.

“How did you know?” Mary said into the silence.

Zelda’s answering smile was sad, and she longed to fix whatever she’d done wrong, whatever she’d done to lose the lightness in the witch’s beautiful eyes. Zelda folded her arms, perhaps suddenly ashamed of her skin. “Everyone needs a little encouraging from time to time. And it’s often in short supply here.” She sighed. “Especially for outsiders.”

“Is that what I am?” She knew the answer all too well.

“I think we all are. In our own ways.”

“Even you? Their queen?” Mary asked, incredulous.

Zelda looked at her. “It’s very cold here, Mary. You must have some kind of fire to have survived here so long as you have.”

The library was empty, she was sure. So late in the afternoon and so late in the week, by now the rest of the young witches and warlocks were out, drinks and charms in hand.

“What, no kiss?” Mary ventured, keeping her focus trained to Zelda.

“What?”

“For my impeccable Latin.”

“It’s not about your impeccable Latin, you know that,” Zelda shot back, sure the other girl was mocking her. “I can’t.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“Why not?”

Zelda scoffed. “Can I?”

“It’s ‘may I’, dear.” That earned a hearty roll of Zelda’s eyes. “And you may.”

Never one for patience, Zelda took the chance while she could, surely only a fleeting moment.

She cupped Mary’s chin and tugged her closer, brushing their lips together just enough for a spark to pass between. But it was Mary who lunged to devour, hungry, starved for her touch. She let her farm-roughed palms revel in the sleek charmeuse of her blouse, pure white as the blanketed window frames.

Zelda’s fingers flew along her subtle curves, and a break was due sooner rather than later, Mary’s mortal burning with the lack of oxygen and a baser ache.

“Do you want this?” Zelda rasped through her teeth as they gasped each other’s air. Mary nodded, knocking her with haste. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, _please_.” Mary was whimpering, and Zelda went weak, slamming the Demonology textbook shut and letting it fall forgotten while she lifted Mary up and laid her on the table, unpinning thick hair all the way down.

She spread herself over the mortal girl like a mirror, toe to toe, hip to hip, breast to breast, head to head. Four hands twisted above them, dangling over the edge of the table. Mary’s neck strained, trying to keep Zelda in sight as she descended with a sacred trail of kisses over clothes.

“But-” Zelda looked up from her nearest landing place, the trim lines below Mary’s ribs. “You and Faustus Blackwood, I thought-”

“Oh, Mary, _darling_.” And her name tasted like honey on Zelda’s tongue, her heart beating as if trying to fly, a constant motion in her chest, and she was sure she’d die if it stopped, so she didn’t and let herself drown in Zelda’s sweetness.

The witch tore Mary’s trousers to the floor and goosebumps rose on her thighs, half December, half anticipation. Then Zelda’s mouth was warm and wet on the other side of a cottony barrier to more warm wetness, and Mary couldn’t keep quiet. She sang with moaning, and Zelda dashed up to muffle her noise.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Someone will hear you.” Looking around over her shoulder, Zelda made a decision, helping Mary up and tugging her deep into the library’s stacks.

She nailed the mortal to a sturdy shelf and arranged her legs over her shoulders, Zelda below while she shimmied Mary’s underwear down slight sculpted legs and buried her nose in the coarse thatch of dark curls between them, nuzzling the intoxication of her scent.

A thought crossed her mind, lifting her from reverence. “Mary?”

“Mmm?” the woman whined.

She kissed the taut hollows of her upper thighs, sucking tender bruises into her. “Is this your first time?”

When she looked up again, Mary’s eyes were wrenched in tension. She leapt up to her. “It’s alright. If you don’t want-”

“No, I do. I want to do this. With you. Just go slowly? Please?” Mary shrank with shame, but Zelda kissed it away.

“Of course.” She placed Mary’s hands on her shoulders. “Pinch once to slow down, twice to stop. How’s that?”

Mary nodded. A shy little smile flowered there, and Zelda couldn’t resist another kiss before she sank back to her knees. Mouth working over her, fingertips dancing across sensitive flesh, cool stirring to heat, Zelda took her fill and more of drawing sweet cries from Mary’s tight-wound frame, finally giving her the unraveling she gently desired after a few guiding pressures at her shoulder.

Mary followed her own flow to the floor, wrung out to Zelda’s expertise.

Lying side by side, Mary fumbled her way under Zelda’s skirt, careful, so hopeful to be giving, and felt no barrier, only the full dripping heat of the witch pulsing opposite the stale air.

“How did I-?” Mary muttered in awe of Zelda’s soaking.

“Maybe it _is_ your Latin.” Then those calloused fingers were inside her. “ _Fuck_ , Mary, you’re a quick study.”

“I have an _excellent_ teacher.”

Mary Wardwell passed her winter exams.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m truly so so sorry feel free to yell at me in the comments
> 
> Love, Ruby


End file.
